


sanji hates (winter islands)

by postmoderne



Category: One Piece
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sharing Body Heat, Sharing a Bed, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-28 06:25:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20059501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/postmoderne/pseuds/postmoderne
Summary: Winter islands are cold and Zoro is hurt and Sanji is fed up.“I hate winter islands, I fucking… hate snow!”, Sanji complains loudly, kicking the gnarly old door of this dumb old shack in with a furious leg, dragging Zoro’s lifeless body inside with him.





	sanji hates (winter islands)

“I hate winter islands, I fucking… hate snow!”, Sanji complains loudly, kicking the gnarly old door of this dumb old shack in with a furious leg, dragging Zoro’s lifeless body inside with him. Zoro’s swords scraping the ground. This stupid snowstorm and those stupid marines and the even stupider marimo. Sanji can’t believe they had to flee the scene, can’t believe the moss head got wounded and is now freezing to death, probably. He has no idea where the rest of the crew is; hopefully somewhere safe from their enemies and warm. Sanji had to carry Zoro’s icy almost-corpse through thigh-high snow, barely able to see where he was going. Luckily, he had found this cabin along the way. “Fuck!”

Inside the cabin there was barely anything, much to Sanji’s dismay. A bed with no covers, a lousy table with two tiny stools underneath it, a wooden wardrobe. “Shit”, Sanji mutters. Ah, a fireplace! He had to get a fire going. He had to get Zoro warm. He had to clean up and patch up Zoro’s wounds. In which order? “I hate you, you shitty swordsman, you good-for-nothing plant—”, the blond grumbles and drops Zoro onto the bed that, at least, had a naked mattress on its rusty frame. He takes the swordman’s stupid swords off of him and dumps them on the floor next to the bed. “Not your… goddamn servant, you—”, he grumbles and also forces Zoro’s bloody shirt over the idiot’s head and off, throwing it right on top of the swords. Sanji looks the man over, observing the wounds. They aren’t that bad, Sanji guesses, the moss head has had worse and survived.

“Uh… ugh… eh…”, Zoro groans then and opens his eyes. “Wh…”

“Oh, good, you’re alive.”, Sanji says mercilessly and pushes Zoro back onto the mattress when the other man is trying to get up.

“You’re wounded and freezing, marimo, lie down.” Sanji turns towards the wardrobe in the cabin and opens it, searching for something and actually finds two blankets, thank God. He throws them over to the bed, onto the groaning Zoro. A pillow follows. “I’ll try to get a fire going and… get some snow to wash out your wounds. There’s not much around here. I think the toilet is in an extra cabin outside. How inconvenient. Shit.”, Sanji tells Zoro and tackles the fireplace. There is a bit of firewood left next to the fireplace. Next best thing would be the stools, probably. Maybe the wardrobe. Sanji crouches down, stacks the wood and plucks the lighter out of his jacket pocket. It takes him a while to get the fire actually going but once it’s burning, it’s burning. He’s craving a cigarette by now but first things first. Zoro’s wounds.

“How you doing, plant?”, he asks and receives a grunt in reply. He’s not worried about the guy, not at all.

“Fine. Cold. Hurts.”

Sanji rolls his eyes, gets up and starts looking around the cabin again, for medicine, for anything. He finds an itty-bitty storeroom with alcohol, imperishable foods – canned stuff, dried stuff – dried herbs! He sniffs the herbs. Dried basil, so maybe not medicine. But at least there’s alcohol, both to consume and to help with the wounds. Sanji takes an empty cup, cloth, a bottle of high percentage alcohol and an empty bowl back to Zoro, who is now sitting up again, inspecting his damaged chest.

“I’ll live.”

“Yeah, you will. Here’s booze. Don’t drink it all, disinfect your wounds.”, Sanji tells him and hands him the bottle and cup. He then opens the door as little as he has to, to get a fresh layer of snow into the bowl. “Here’s water. Well, snow but it’s water.”, Sanji steps back to Zoro’s bedside, who shoots him a nasty look and takes the bowl. He hisses as the cold touches his already chilly skin. Sanji grimaces. Not because he’s feeling for Zoro, not at all. Pain is pain.

“Here, let me…”, Sanji kneels down and presses the alcohol-soaked cloth to Zoro’s wounds. Zoro grunts. Together, they patch up his wounds, Sanji mocking him for getting hurt. He doesn't feel sorry for the idiot, not in the least. He touches Zoro’s shoulder to push him into the mattress again.

“You really are cold, marimo. Get the covers, you gotta warm up, dumbass.”, Sanji tells him, “How pathetic would it be to die of hypothermia.”

Zoro shivers. “I’m not gonna die, idiot cook.”, he grumbles, pulling the blankets tighter around him. The fire crackles in the background. “Don’t be so doting, it’s not like you.”

Sanji snorts.

Silence. Tension.

“You cold?”, Zoro asks softly, after a beat. Sanji shrugs. They look at each other, communicating silently, something they don't usually do, Sanji doesn't think. Usually they use their swords and legs as a way of communicating.

They both know there is something between them. Something. They dare not talk about it, it’s a subject they do not breach.

“I hope Nami-chan and Robin-swan are alright.”, Sanji deflects and looks away. He stands up, mutters: “Need a smoke”, steps to the window next to the bed and opens it. Zoro doesn’t reply. Sanji doesn’t expect him to. It’s still snowing heavily and as soon as Sanji opens the window, he closes it again. Too snowy, too cold. Guess the smoke has to wait. The cabin suddenly seems too tiny; for how long they would have to stay here, Sanji doesn’t know. He glances at his nakama and his stomach flutters, which makes Sanji irrationally angry. He loves women, loves Nami and Robin. Doesn’t love stupid swordsmen with grass for brains.

“Ero-Cook...”

Sanji ignores him.

“Cook…”

Nothing.

“Sanji.”

Sanji lifts his eyebrows in surprise at the usage of his name.

“Huh?”, he asks, now fully looking at Zoro in the bed.

Zoro lifts the covers and stares at the blond silently but intensely. Sanji shakes his head.

“Come on. It’s just…”, Zoro stops, trying to think of the right thing to say, “…body heat. Would be pathetic to die of hypothermia.”

Sanji scoffs. Using his own words against him, that’s low. But he shuffles closer and takes off his jacket, takes off his shoes.

“Body heat.”, he repeats, sitting down on the mattress. “I-If you tell Nami anything about this, I will kick you to the moon, moss head, understood?”

He hears Zoro chuckle and then feels the man’s hands on his back, then his stomach. Zoro pulls him down and into his embrace. Unusual, Sanji finds this, Zoro did not strike him as a cuddler, but he lets himself be manhandled by the swordsman. Stiffly they lie next to each other, Zoro’s arms around Sanji’s body, the blankets covering them soothingly.

“Relax.”, Zoro whispers.

“You relax.”, Sanji whispers back. There is no heat behind his words. Just anxiety. He’s anxious about this thing that they have, that Zoro is apparently comfortable or cold or hurt enough to… to what? To what? Zoro is warm now, burning almost. Sanji hopes it’s not a fever but he wouldn’t know. He’s burning up himself. Burning up in this sweet embrace and he doesn’t know what they are or what they have. On the ship, when everyone else is there, they’re not really anything but nakama… Sanji would even consider them enemies. But they’re not. Not enemies. They’re something.

“Stop thinking.”, Zoro hisses at him.

“You stop thinking.”, Sanji hisses back.

Silence. Breathing. Exhaustion is finally starting to set in, the adrenaline from the fight for survival fading.

Sanji hates winter islands.

Zoro’s eyes are closed.

Sanji closes his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying very hard to get back into writing, I haven't really written anything in a very long time. It's like I've lost my spark. So this isn't very good but it's something. It's words. Hope you got anything out of this.  
Maybe you'll hear from me again... soon?


End file.
